


The Most Beloved Star

by Illegible_Scribble



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: (-Baggins), AU, Family Fluff, Father-Daughter Relationship, Fluff, Frodo stays in the Shire, Gen, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Quest, and gets to be a dad, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 16:43:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19872793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illegible_Scribble/pseuds/Illegible_Scribble
Summary: In the late hours of her fourteenth birthday, Elanor presents her father a set of questions that the Red Book does not answer, of things that are golden and treasured. Frodo lays clear the values of each to her.





	The Most Beloved Star

**Author's Note:**

> First off, thank you to my wonderful betas [YamBits](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamBits) and [acidicgumdrops](https://acidicgumdrops.tumblr.com/) \- without you this story perhaps would never have left the depths of my laptop. <3
> 
> Second: this work draws from Tolkien's Epilogue for The Lord of the Rings, which was ultimately cut from the original story and later published in Sauron Defeated (then The End of the Third Age after that). The setting of this story is similar, though those present and their motivations have changed a great deal, and reading the original is not required to read this.
> 
> Third and last, this is an AU: Frodo has remained in the Shire after the Quest, with the help of Gandalf and other efforts of the White Council. He and Sam were wed and able to begin a family; at the time of this story they have five children: their eldest, Elanor, their first son Beren, the twin boys Meriadoc and Peregrin (Merry and Pippin, for short), and their youngest daughter, Niphredil. For the sake of it you may decide yourself the means the children came into Frodo and Sam's lives, though as far as I have thought, Elanor and Niphredil are their biological children (brought about with help from the White Council, mpreg was not involved), while Beren, Merry, and Pippin were adopted.  
> With that out of the way, let the proper tale begin.

Far above the melody of chirping crickets and the soft peeping of frogs, the moon hung almost exactly overhead, reminding any hobbits in the Shire still awake, that the hour of March 25th in the year 1436 SR was growing late indeed.

By now, though the festivities that had stretched from late morning until late evening on the Party Field had wound down and been mostly tidied, two hobbits remained awake, their minds too full of thought to leave room for sleep.

Atop the Hill over the Water, a candle flickered in the window of Bag End’s study, and its warm light reflected in a pair of bright blue eyes filled with knowledge and sadness beyond their years.

Frodo Baggins stared speculatively out the window into the darkness on the other side. Today had been – and was still, for the clock in the hall had not yet chimed more than eleven times – many things: the fourteenth birthday of the heiress of the Hill, the New Year in Gondor, and the anniversary of the catalyst that had heralded the end of the Third Age in the outer world.

On the desk before him sat a very old book, propped up and held open at one of the last pages on which anything was writ or drawn. His gaze had moved often between it and the window, lost in thought. It read, ' _On March the 25_ _th_ _, in the First year of the Fourth Age of Middle-earth, and in the year 1422 by the Shire Reckoning, to Bag End of the Hill, Hobbiton, was born its first heir. Elanor, so named for the flower beloved by the Elves that granted the child her first breath, and claimed as beneficiary to both Master Frodo Baggins of Bag End, and his husband Samwise Gamgee (so instated by King Aragorn Elessar II of the Reunited Kingdoms, and recognized by the Mayor of the Shire Will Whitfoot), heir to all their worldly possessions as their daughter.'_

Today was Elanor's fourteenth birthday. It had been something of extravagance for Hobbiton, which in spring was more often concerned with farms and fields than parties. But the _mallorn_ that had become the second Party Tree had been strung up with lights, and music and food had been provided for Elanor and her friends, and anyone else that wished to come. Brighter still than the lights that glistened from the Party Tree, had been the fireworks from none other than Gandalf the Wizard, returned again in spring as he always did.

It was not near to any scale Bilbo Baggins's infamous 111th party had been so many years ago, but it was the biggest Elanor had known of her own, and from the afternoon on into the night she'd spun and leaped about the grass to the music, glinting in the sun and firelight like a smaller and fairer version of the legend Lúthien, to Frodo's eyes. His heart had swelled with more emotions than he could've named, to be able to see her shining gold and silver like a star as she danced, while her laughter rang out across the field like Elvish bells.

Frodo had danced only once with her, but he had seen then in her eyes that so mirrored his own in size and color, a light all its own of surprise and delight.

He sat back in his chair, now, closing his eyes and sighing as he leaned back, many feelings again rendering his chest tight. Behind him, the faint light from his candle spilled into the dark hall as the door opened silently, and a face peered in.

As it was her birthday, Elanor felt the entirety of the day was hers to enjoy without guilt, from the midnight that began it to the midnight that ended it, and within reason she could do as she liked, including skirt the curfew imposed on her siblings.

Though she prided herself on a variety of experiences many of her friends had never known – such as trips all the way to Michel Delving, Tighfield, Tookland, Buckland and even Bree so far in the East – today had been a new and delightful experience even for her. She knew she was fortunate for the parties she was granted on her birthdays, compared to many of her peers, but she could recall none had ever been as grand and public as today's, with so many friends and family and music and food.

In fact, many of them had been very quiet, she remembered, especially when she was small. Most had been within the confines of Bag End, a small gathering of her family and Gandalf, over homely but fine food, and gifts. Elanor at first had been too small to think much of anything particular about them, but as she grew older she noticed her father Frodo could not spend all day with her as her Sam-dad, and her uncles Merry, or Pippin could, and also Gandalf disappeared almost whenever Frodo did.

When she was a bit older, on occasion, Sam – perhaps accompanied by her uncles – would take her out to town for one reason or another, to eat or look at the market or any other reason, but Frodo and Gandalf would never follow. In fact, she had realized, Frodo hadn't set foot outside the smial on her birthday, until her 9th, when he accompanied the family on a walk down to the Water. Each year since, their outings had grown to greater things such as even picnics after a longer walk, but today was the first Elanor could recall Frodo having been out for so long and been so active. In spite of his shyness and hesitance, she'd even been able to persuade him to dance with her, and seeing his face change from withheld concern as he'd first risen to genuine happiness as he spun her around for the first time, had been one of the best things she'd ever seen on her birthday.

She had remained up long after the party had ended and the family – including her – and their guests had readied for bed. She had slipped out the kitchen door to the garden to breathe the night air and look at the stars until the moon was almost exactly overhead, by which time she followed through on her promise to herself to investigate the light coming from the study's window.

She prided herself on being able to move almost silently when she wanted, born from many years of practice pretending she was Bilbo sneaking around goblin tunnels, or about to face down a dreadful dragon. Her footfalls had not even whispered across the floor as she made her way down the hall to the study door, confident of her movements even without a candle in the dark. Elanor had waited a moment when she stood before it, then reached out and turned the handle, holding her breath as she pushed it open a crack. It moved blessedly silent on well oiled hinges, without so much as a squeak.

A single candle flickered on the desk beneath the window at the far wall, and the embers of a fire long ago dead cast a faint glow upon the floor. A smell came wafting slowly out from the study to meet her, one forever linked to her birthday- steamed _aethelas_. By the candle's light, she could see the head of someone sitting at the desk, a book open upon it, and a bowl off to one side.

For a very long while – or at least, that's how it felt, though no chimes of the clock reminded her of the time – she stood, staring, years' worth of questions suddenly bubbling up her throat but perishing in a confused tangle of silence once they reached her mouth. She had heard and read from the Red Book since before she could speak, and from it she knew many things – much of the outside world and the people that dwelt there, the Elder Days and their recent and final passing, and the role of the Shire and her fathers in it all, most especially her Atarinya, Frodo.

In her mind she could say with confidence she knew everything that explained why her father was the way he was, in his loving gentleness, quiet but commanding authority in imperative suggestions to even the Master and the Thain, and his... remoteness, on some particular days. She knew all the reasons and their effects, and likely it wasn't her business anyway, but for all the love she shared with her Atya, there was still a distance between them that yawned wide briefly every year, and she was desperate to bridge it with questions she could not form and answers she could not guess.

He startled her suddenly when he spoke. “As you made so, and can see, the door is open.” She swallowed and blinked, bewildered and slightly mad he'd somehow discovered she was there, for all her care to be so incredibly quiet. “The draft,” he replied to what she hadn't asked aloud.

“Oh,” she said in spite of herself, having wished all of this to have started another way.

“You can come in,” he told her softly, only loud enough to hear.

For a minute, she did not, and stood in the doorway holding the knob with a fierce concentration as her brows knit in thought. Her pride and temper often got her in trouble, though she tried to only turn it on particularly obnoxious hobbits, like the Sandyman boys. She was fairly proud of this effort, but was markedly less so when she found herself being patronizing or impish with her family.

Elanor meant nothing truly ill now, and yet in some way, she felt as if she was prodding a strange but innocent creature with a stick. “Happy Gondorian New Year.” she offered, still standing at the door, and looking at him hard in the low light, waiting and watching.

He in turn gave her a quiet spell, and she thought she saw him nod. “Yes,” he said slowly, “a new year indeed.” She waited still, feeling her lip tremble and she couldn't explain to herself why. “Please come in, Elanorëlle.” he entreated after a time longer. He gestured to the cushioned stool beside the desk, on which every Baggins-Gardner child had sat as they grew, even in their carrying-baskets as babes.

Elanor wavered, trying to figure out what it was that she wanted, before she stepped in and closed the door, walking up to the desk on silent feet. She did not sit at once, instead pausing to stand at his side, and look, as he had taught her. It was one of the best ways to learn about the world – short of asking questions.

She saw the now lukewarm bowl of _aethelas_ leaves, and the Red Book propped open on that page, and her father sitting in the chair that had belonged to two generations of Bagginses before him.

Her eyes lingered on the Book more than anything else, a small part inside her fearing what pages she would see. Bilbo had been quite fond of illustrating his sections of the book, and in honor to him Frodo had usually done the same, or left room for it while writing, and later asked an artist of greater skill to render an appropriate image.

She had thought it might be open to the picture she had seen commonly on or around her birthday, of red, orange and yellow flames leaping up the page, to the edge of a cliff. Above that was an arm, belonging to someone the rest of which lay off the page, wearing a dirty and tattered sleeve, and held in its hand a grimy silver chain, on which was strung a perfect and untarnished band of gold.

Fleeting memories swirled in her head of that page, always flittering in the back of her mind as her birthday neared, for the knowledge of the day the picture represented, and that before she had known Frodo to briefly linger on it as the day loomed, and even after it had passed.

But it was not the picture she saw. Instead, it was in great part black and white, only two true colors used to depict it: a far softer and gentler gold than before, and a bright, stunning blue. It was a rendition of her, the day she was born, being held by her fathers. Sam's hair was painted in the same soft gold as hers, and Frodo's eyes were like her own in bright blue. They held her between them, and her hair peeked out in curled tufts between Frodo's fingers as his left, four-fingered hand lay on her head.

It felt suddenly as though her heart were no longer being squeezed so hard as she fully realized what picture Frodo had been studying, and her gaze shifted at last to him. His left hand was now wrapped in a damp towel – never a sight that had been uncommon to her – and he looked up at her with a gentle question on his face, which was framed now by a curtain of silver that dusted the top and front of his head. A thread of memory from when she was very small came back to her suddenly, at his joy to discover the very first of his hairs to grey.

He was old, and careworn, especially when lit by only a candle, but as Sam had waxed often and for years of him – to the mock disgust of her brothers – there was something beautiful to his person that exceeded all notion of darkness and time. She had only met Legolas the Elf twice, and he was the single Elf she'd ever seen in person, but she had no doubt this quality of Frodo was somehow Elvish, and beyond any true understanding of this world.

Elanor was suddenly very aware that it was near to midnight, and that she was intruding on whatever time he'd desired to have alone. She felt suddenly very young; a little girl up long past her bedtime (even if it was her birthday). But he smiled gently at her, and she managed to say, for want of anything clever, “ _Aduial vaer, Atarinya._ ” simply wishing him a good evening.

He closed his eyes for a moment, and then with greater accuracy in pronunciation than she felt she would master in many years, he replied first with a laugh, “Fuin _vaer._ _Guren linna a chened le, Elanor._ ” correcting her from 'good evening' to 'good _night'_ , and telling her in a more colorful but still customary Elvish greeting, his heart sang to see her.

She blushed and stuck out her lower lip. “It must sing quite a lot, then. You've seen me almost all day!”

“So I have,” his tone grew softer, “and so it does.”

There was a significance in his words Elanor did not miss, and she sat down on the old stool, her head coming up slightly lower than his, though by now when standing her height exceeded his by an inch. She shortened herself further by resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, looking up at him like the child she still very much was. “Thank you for dancing with me today. … I know it wasn't the easiest thing for you.” Many more gratitudes bubbled to her lips, but she held them back.

His expression shifted from weary happiness to something more troubled. “No,” she didn't know of his temptation to look away as he admitted this, for he held her gaze, “it wasn't. But I'm very glad I was able to, and did it, and gladder still it made you so happy.”

She smiled through her fingers, before reaching up to his arm rest and taking his wrapped hand in hers. “You always make me happy, even... even if you've got to be away for... some time... some days.” her voice trailed, and a bit more of her unhappiness slipped through than she had meant.

Frodo did not miss this. “Please believe me when I say I am very sorry for that,” his hand curled to hold one of hers, “... If I could spare you these many absences, and be with you as much as your Dad is, then I would.”

Something occurred to her then, as usually does not for a child to a parent until the child is much older: a pang of pity. But not for perceived shortcomings the child believes they have escaped; rather, for sacrifice. “I know.” she said, with conviction that surprised her. This was not the first conversation of its kind the two had had, but it was the first she considered truly how difficult these years must have been for him, and wanting to be with his family but unable. For he gave up a part of himself in an act of selfless protection of the world. She looked over at the book with concern, and a touch of hope, before back to him. “Are you all right, Atya?”

A greater shadow of weariness seemed to overcome him, though a faint smile persisted in spite of it. “Yes, in time. Much better than I have been before, as I believe you can tell.” Elanor nodded. “It's been a very long road, and for many parts of it... no, I have not been all right. Often I wish that road had been shorter, but nevertheless I am here, with you, and your Dad and your brothers and sister.” His hand shifted in her grasp, and for a moment rested with pride and appreciation on top of her head, before pulling away.

“Has... has it been very bad?” she asked, this question a dreadful one but something that had held her curiosity ever since she understood the connexion between the events in the Red Book and Frodo's illnesses. Curiosity that had grown at times, to some horrid beast that gnawed with greater ferocity on her thoughts whenever she looked at her father as anniversaries of tragedy in the Red Book loomed near. “What... what has it been like?”

For her knowledge of the Quest, Elanor had never been bitter towards her father for his absences. Envious, perhaps, of her siblings that could have him for the whole day on their birthdays, and her friends whose parents never had a care about deep hurts or pain... envious, and desperately curious.

She grew up with the Red Book as the most honored history of any branch of her family, dwarfing Bandorbras the Bullroarer as if he were a lizard compared to a dragon, and yet there was still a distance between the words writ inside it, and even the recountings of her fathers and uncles, and her. She knew those things they spoke of had happened, and she knew and loved Gandalf like a grandfather, and delighted in knowing Prince Legolas and Lord Gimli, and even old Barliman Butterbur in Bree. But they were like... the sky, almost. Always there, unequivocally so, and something she could see and be moved by, and it had moved others too, but she could never touch it.

The Ring in particular had always been something of a great enigma to her, but for all its evil, never something she had feared, for it was defeated, by her own fathers' hands (more or less). She had gone through great phases of hatred for the destroyed thing and how it had hurt her Atya and took him away from her on her special day, but as her perception and understanding of the world grew as she did, she realized she didn't even know how it hurt him.

It tormented him terribly, she knew, but torment was a different thing to different people, and one thing she stubbornly did not abide by were mysteries. She knew what it was, and why it was, and what her fathers had done with it, but her knowledge of its personal effects were lacking. She knew what it did to her, taking Frodo away, but she didn't know why it took him away. Sam's kindly, 'It's the Ring, Ellie; it were a dark thing, an' still ain't let go all the way.' had stopped satisfying her. “Can you tell me, Atya?” she whispered, her voice trembling as she leaned forward to hold the armrest of his chair.

Frodo bowed his head, turning only his eyes to study her for a moment, and Elanor felt a surge of guilt for asking something so private and dreadful. “Often,” he said, before she could offer apology, “it is like a yawning emptiness inside, as though someone has died, but that which left was far dearer than a person could be.

“It... is a craving; a desire; a mad need to find again and keep. … Which promotes a feeling of more terrible guilt and shame than I care to describe. ... And there are memories, of what it was like to have, and all the things I heard, thought and felt about it, and what I would do with it if it were mine.” his voice trembled, and he did not look at her any longer. “And the pain of its loss, and the pain that I mourn for it.

“Often there are darknesses, and nightmares, and as you have seen, there are times I cannot move for them, and the pain-” he glanced down to his left hand, “returns to many places in many ways.

“... it is more difficult to describe than a broken bone or a bad hit on the head,” he finished eventually, his gaze upon her sad, yet hopeful his explanation was enough. “Those things have all lessened with time and Gandalf's aid, yet they persist still.” She saw something rare on the face of any Baggins, then: shame. “Does that explain it well enough?”

She looked up at the Red Book and what was written there- looked hard only at _'The First year in the Fourth Age of Middle-earth'_ , and then she seemed to almost look through it, right to the page with that picture of Fire and gold. The Ring had come a long time before she did. Her birthday was the day it was destroyed, not the other way round. Any happiness her birth could have brought must have been a double-edged blade that cut deeply year after year. Her vision swam. “I didn't make it any easier, did I?”

He gasped- no, it was more a stifled sob, and his eyes were wet with tears. He pushed back his chair, and knelt before her, discarding the wrappings on his left hand, and taking her now empty hands in his. “My very dearest Elanor...” he paused, and blue eyes reflected blue. “A parent accepts the weight every child brings to their heart and mind, because no child is without them. To want a child and then shun them for being themselves, and needful of a parent, renders one not a parent at all.

“You, Elanor, were wanted with all the weight and responsibility of any child, and wanted all the more besides with the ferocity of love from which that want was born. Love I am beyond privileged to know and be able to share with you.

“Yes, your birthday surprised and even scared me at first, but the moment your father and I agreed to have you, I accepted the responsibility of you, and I have not the words to describe the joy I felt and feel in being able to, and doing so. It was and is the highest honor in my life- safeguarding you, and your happiness, and ensuring that you always know you are loved and valued beyond all price. No matter the obstacle or my grief, I have always done my best to uphold my duty to you as your father.

“As scared as I was the day you were born, my love for you was so much stronger than my fear.”

The shifting candlelight sent shadows dancing along the old and magnificent walls of the room. Bag End was one of the finest smials in the Westfarthing, held in a family of peculiar but mighty renown. Frodo was the heir of the first hobbit to have truly made a name for himself out in the world, and in his own right Frodo was a Ring-bearer, Elf-friend, Counsellor to the North-kingdom, and honored in all high halls, whether of Man, Elf or Dwarf. Songs were sung in high white towers of Nine-fingered Frodo and the Ring of Doom; Kings and Lords and Ladies of kingdoms of stone and wood and field called him friend; and the blessings of all of the Three Kindred were upon him.

His greatest honor was being her father.

Elanor gasped, and it was long before she saw clearly again, for the number and ferocity of her tears.

Frodo swallowed, and he continued in a soft yet steady voice. “None of this has been perfectly easy for me, but for all my struggles, from your first breath you have been a light that has brightened my world to make it more joyful and magnificent than the Sun.

“You were and have always been wanted, Elanor, and nothing I carry from the Quest is your fault or made worse by you.” Frodo welcomed Elanor using his shoulder as a place to hide her tears, and his own fell into her golden hair as he held her. “You are my daughter, and I love you.”

A soft and muffled, “I love you too, Atya.” was spoken into his shoulder, and the clock in the hall began to chime, though its echoes were mere whispers in the private world the study had become. As her father held her, Elanor held Frodo as well. He was solid and he was real, and she felt his heart beating just like hers. She knew better his wounds, and she mourned for him as she held him tight, almost desperately clutching the back of his weskit in her hands.

She recalled passages from the Red Book where Frodo was described as having some sort of light that shone from within or through him, and she wondered if it could be felt as much as seen. Perhaps as the 25th had passed the chill in his left side had receded, or perhaps it was something else about him that held her in a gentle and encompassing warmth that seemed to make the world around her glow just a bit brighter. And she thought he was the very bravest and strongest person she ever knew to still be able to hold that light inside him and share it with others, when he had borne and still bore such darkness around him, and still battled it from within.

“Thank you for being so bright and brave.” her words didn't all make sense even to her, but she felt they could not go without saying. There had been a terrible darkness that sent much of the old and beautiful light away, that Elanor would never get to see. But some of it had endured, and would still endure, all for her Atya and Dad.

Frodo touched her hair and rested his chin atop her head, and Elanor's gaze cleared enough for her to see the Red Book, and more tears fell for the picture reflected there. “Brighter and braver still are you, Sun-star, when your Atya has missed so many of your birthdays.”

Elanor sniffled and wrinkled her brow, pressing her nose against his shoulder. “It's not about birthdays, Atya. It's... it's about holding onto light when there's so much darkness.” He let her go when she was ready, and she wiped away her tears, her gaze flickering intermittently to the Book. “I never knew how hard it was for you, and... and I'm really happy you've kept getting better.” she took his hand, and studied his eyes. “Please don't ever stop.”

He smiled slowly, and there was something beautiful, and Elanor thought Elvish, about the light that lit his face when he did. “I won't, not ever.” he squeezed her hand. “I promise. I have too many wonderful and beautiful things I couldn't give up: you, your father, and your brothers and sister. Each and every one of you is an invaluable reason I won't ever stop.”

She laughed and bit her lip, and then hugged him again just to make sure he really was real. He could've gone away, she knew, far away across the Sea – where the light shone for ever and all hurts were mended – if he hadn't wanted to stay and fight. Perhaps he ought not to have, but she was happy beyond words he had stayed and fought. Maybe it was a fight never to be won, but she knew now in part for her sake, he wouldn't lose.

“... I know I've already asked for much more than I should for my birthday,” she said carefully and at length, “but, may I ask for one more thing?”

Frodo gently released her again, and a humor was on him now that the darkness had been pushed away. “You have asked for quite a bit, it's true. It's also true, young Mistress, you are not merely fourteen according to the clock, but fourteen and one day, as the 25th has passed.”

 _It could wait until later_ , Elanor supposed to herself, _but he hasn't said no..._ “... A late present then, or early for next year?”

He laughed and stood, shaking his head. “It seems I can deny you nothing,” was her answer, said warmly and with a laugh behind it.

“Will you tell me what the King has said?”

“Pardon me?”

The earlier attitude and lip that had given her the courage to ignore her curfew and snoop at the study's door in the middle of the night, slowly returned. “King Aragorn Elessar. I think you know him – acquaintances, at least.” her impish smile was met with a lengthy sigh as Frodo sat heavily in his chair. “Maybe better as Strider, then?”

“I suppose the one thing I cannot escape are Conspiracies. How did you find out about it, then, little investigator?” To Elanor's relief, her father was more amused than upset.

“Oh, Atya, it's hardly as if you were careful with it! It came in the Southfarthing post last Wednesday, a fine and fancy thing held in white silk and with great black seals imprinted with wings. And you just brought it with the rest of the mail, only instead of setting it on the table you took it back, here to the study I think.” A sight even less common to a Baggins than shame was on Frodo, then; a faint blush. But under his hand he hid a smile, and for his sheepishness his eyes shone with pride.

However, as his full confession was not forthcoming, Elanor pressed further. “... Atya, even if Uncle Pippin didn't parade around in his livery on holidays and talk about how beautiful the King's coronation was with his crown of wings, I'd know from the Book exactly what it was.”

Frodo sighed, shaking his head, and watched Elanor with miffed admiration. “Well, I suppose I've grown careless in my old age, haven't I? Fortunate I was never to be a burglar; my sleight of hand is sorely lacking. Do your siblings know?”

“I don't think so; or anyway no one's mentioned it yet, and I think if Merry or Pippin had noticed it they wouldn't have stopped chattering until you broke down and told them. But, _I_ would really like to know. You've had it more than an entire week, though I suppose you have been known to wait for special days.

“I... know I'm proposing a difficult bargain, but may I have some credit for the fact I _could_ have come in here and tried to find it myself, and didn't...?”

“I source your courtesy to Sam's side of the family.” Frodo was trying to minimize his smile of amused pride as he shifted in his seat to reach for one of the drawers of the desk, and procured from it the letter exactly as Elanor had described, but now its seals were broken. “It's an announcement without a herald, if you like.” he said, pulling it from its case and unrolling it, smoothing it on the desk as Elanor stood to look over his shoulder. “Now, don't go waking your siblings tonight, especially the twins; your father and I will tell you all formally tomorrow, when there's plenty of time for them to tear about and burn off all their excitement.” Elanor crossed her heart in a solemn vow, and turned her eyes to the letter, which was black and written with silver ink in magnificent script.

“Oh,” she said for the second time that night in surprise and awe. Elegant illustrations of flowers bordered the top and bottom of the letter, broken in the center at both ends by a crown, which marked the division of the letter in two, one in Elvish and the other in common. “He's- he's visiting?” she asked, only skimming the side in common, for she knew some of Sindarin but not enough for the length of the letter. “What does it all say?”

“He is visiting indeed,” Frodo confirmed, “coming first to the Brandywine Bridge, where he expects to meet us all, and then if the Thain, Master of Buckland, and Mayor are all so willing, he would like an extended visit to see much of the Four Farthings.”

“Us all? Do you mean-” her eyes fell to near the end of the letter, where her own name and those of her siblings were writ with the King's expectancy to see them. “-yes, I suppose so.”

“Quite. I would imagine Pippin and Merry have each received one much like this as well, but it requests all of you by name, in person, and he hopes to arrive by April 2nd.”

“But that's only a week from tomorrow!” Elanor cried, forgetting briefly it was the middle of the night. “Atya, I think that's hardly enough warning to prepare! It's the _King_!”

Frodo smiled. “And the Queen.” he gestured to the letter. “And we'll be quite fine; it's not as if we've nothing to wear, and... we are all old friends.” he touched his hair wistfully. “Some older than others.”

Elanor sat back on her stool with a soft thud, staring. “I'm to meet the King and Queen of Gondor. Why, that's almost as fair a start to a story as Gandalf knocking on the door and introducing thirteen Dwarves. Whyever would they want to meet _me_?”

Frodo's look was one of shock and mild offense. “As you do know, it took many great deeds to bring you about, Elanor, and your fathers are no small persons, even in the wide world beyond our little Shire. You may recall I and Sam have also spoken with great pride of you to Gimli, Legolas and Gandalf, and I'm sure they, and Merry and Pippin besides [who went at times to visit their Lords in the East], have spread those words of praise far across the land.”

Elanor was blushing furiously, not unlike Sam would at times. “Well, that's not so bad, I suppose.” She turned her attention back to the letter, and changing the direction of talk, asked, “What does the Elvish bit say, then?”

“It is much the same, though our names have all been translated into Elvish. Yours, Beren's and Niphredil's beginning in Sindarin already are not; but Merry and Pippin become Gelir and Cordof; myself Iorhael – meaning 'old-wise', which makes me feel terribly young and spry, for which I must thank Aragorn; and your father Perhael – 'half-wise'. Though Aragorn suggests he be Panthael, which is 'full-wise'. I quite agree, but mention it to Sam and he'll turn as red as a beet.”

Elanor was quiet for a moment or two, a little smile on her lips. “Those are all so lovely. I... it's almost too much, somehow. Knowing Gandalf and meeting Legolas and Gimli and other Dwarves... those are one thing, but... it's almost a part of the story come to life, in... in a deeper way, King Aragorn coming so far just to see... us, outside you and Dad and Uncles Merry and Pippin. And then- knowing about us all! And giving us such fine Elvish names. It's...” her words slipped away.

“The story has always been alive,” said Frodo, and he looked over to the Book, “even as you came into it. It's only your perspective in it about to change.”

Elanor's face was unsure. “Am I ready for that?”

Here, Frodo's expression darkened for a moment. “I don't think one can ever truly be 'ready' for this sort of thing. Bilbo certainly wasn't without his kerchiefs that morning, nor was I with seventeen years on him to prepare. But seeing as I will kill Aragorn if he or Gandalf try to persuade you into an adventure on this visit, I think you have nothing to fear simply meeting him. In fact, I believe he will be very happy and honored to meet you.”

Elanor looked down at her lap and fumbled with her hands as they lay there. She would have objected, but she knew the importance of her fathers – why, they were Counsellors of the North-kingdom – and that importance extended to her as well. “How long do they plan to stay?” she finally asked.

“He doesn't say, though as King I expect he'll have the courtesy not to wear out his welcome.”

“Will he come here, to Bag End?”

“He might. I expect he will. It has become rather notorious, I hear, in many lands. Pippin has reported from his visits to Gondor that it's become a common tongue-in-cheek phrase to suggest someone seek a round green door if they want for adventure.”

Elanor stared. “They really know so much about... us?”

“Indeed. We have friends in high places, and some are more talkative than others, such as your uncle the Thain.”

At this, Elanor snorted. “That I can believe easily.” she looked back at the letter, and her shoulders fell at the sight of it. “Atya, it's the King and Queen of Gondor – practically visiting Brandy Hall first off, no less. _Everyone's_ going to be there; the Brandybucks, the Tooks, the Bagginses- why, and Gandalf, too, I expect!- it's going to be... why, perhaps even bigger than Bilbo's birthday!”

“Precisely why your father and I have been keeping this quiet, and not even mentioned it to Gandalf – though from some of his smirks the past few days, I suspect he may have had some knowledge of this.” said Frodo, slipping the letter back into its case and returning it to its drawer, “After all, the boys especially will lose their heads and any hope of sleep for some days once they learn, I think.”

“... When do we leave, then?”

“The day after tomorrow, perhaps. I'd like a little time to settle at Brandy Hall and catch up with Merry, and give all of you a bit of time to roughhouse with your cousins before the King arrives. At some point I also desire a relatively calm talk with Gandalf, to see if he'll give up any more about all of this.”

“I think I'll be losing sleep as well.” Elanor's hands framed her face as she went through dozens of scenarios in her head at once. “Strider- King Aragorn, out of the Red Book...”

Frodo rose, taking the named book in hand and closing it, running his hand over the aged cover as he did. “Yes, Strider.” In those two words Frodo's voice recounted more years of memory than many history books could manage in a chapter. “The King returned.” He placed the greatest heirloom of the Bagginses on its stand on the other side of the desk to Elanor's stool, and looked to his daughter. “Returned, I think, as you ought to be to your bed, as we've fulfilled our last birthday agreement of yours.”

This roused Elanor from her thoughts, and with a sigh she rose as well. “Yes, well. I suppose I'll need plenty of rest to act well and surprised tomorrow, otherwise I shan't hear the end of whether or not I knew of all this before everyone else.” There was quiet again for a last moment, before she added. “But you've got to get to bed as well, Atya. The 25th is over, and I'm sure Sam-dad misses you already.”

Frodo hummed a soft noise of ascent. “Yes, I believe you're right.” He picked up the candle, and escorted Elanor to the door, at which she turned to him again.

“Thank you – once more – Atya, for... everything.” she fumbled a bit with her hands, as Sam was wont to do, looking shy. “I'm very happy you're my daddy.” And she hugged him with a sudden fierceness. “And I'm very proud.”

Frodo held in turn – but with one arm, for the candle – gently. “And I'm very proud to be your daddy.”

The part of him that had grown most from his experiences in fatherhood briefly wished this hug could last more than a handful of moments, but Frodo withdrew as Elanor did. The candlelight shone in her hair, and for the length of a breath, placed a cascade of twinkling stars among her curls. She smiled, and her eyes were alight, as if they were clear blue water reflecting a thousand glistening sparkles from the sun. “Goodnight,” she whispered, taking his hand in hers and squeezing it, before she slipped away, down the hall to her room, on feet so silent, Bilbo would have glowed with pride to not have heard them.

Frodo stood at the door for several heartbeats longer, doing his best to stem the flow of his tears. He and Sam had long ago been over why Frodo needed to stop asking what he had done to deserve their children.

When he was modestly more composed, he returned to the desk and took the bowl and towel to the kitchen, and then made his own way down the hall. He paused briefly to peer into the nursery, and saw that Niphredil was still sleeping peacefully, before he continued on to the master bedroom. He entered and blew out the candle, so as not to disturb his husband, and moved to the bedside.

The holder he set on the night stand, and as quietly as he could he drew back the eiderdown and slipped under it, to feel the bed shift next to him and a soft 'hmm' pressed into his shoulder. As had been done for many years, Sam draped an arm around Frodo and pulled him close, nuzzling and planting gentle kisses along his cheek. “You're awful late.” he murmured sleepily.

“I meant to come back sooner, but spoke for a spell with Elanor.”

“Hmm. About today?”

Frodo's fingers found their way into Sam's hair, and played with it idly. “About all of the todays spanning back to her birth. She... she felt a bit guilty, I think. And I promised her she was wanted, and made my life better, and never worse.”

A thoughtful breath billowed across Frodo's neck and collarbone. “I hope she ain't been feelin' that way long.”

“I hope the same, and that she won't feel so again.”

“I could talk wi' her tomorrow.”

“Oh, you will. I told her of Aragorn's letter, and promised we'd come clean to everyone tomorrow.”

Sam groaned, rolling slightly from his side to his back. “An' here I was thinkin' you _enjoyed_ havin' mites that could sleep through a night nowadays, Frodo Baggins.”

“We'd have to tell them sometime. It won't be so bad, in the end. If I must, I'll beg Gandalf to entertain them with- stories or sparklers or both, perhaps, and at least in Brandy Hall they'll have plenty of others to properly bounce off the walls with.”

Sam grumbled quietly, curling back up around Frodo. “Will be a busy week.”

“Mmhm. But we'll be together.” Frodo's hand stilled to rest on Sam's cheek. “And together we've been able to do more than either alone.” he turned his head to see Sam's eyes, which were bright and awake and staring back.

“Yes,” he said quietly, a little hoarse, perhaps from being woken from sleep, or emotion, “Samwise and Frodo. Together, now an' for always.”

Frodo gently stroked Sam's cheek with his thumb, and for a moment they lay in the moonlight spilling through the window together, both their worlds awash in a beautiful silver. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sam said, almost as breathlessly as when he'd first spoken the words. They kissed, gentle and hard and every bit in between, and Frodo soon lay on his side as Sam did, pressed against his chest and the both of them tangled in each other's arms. Sam's chest heaved as he held Frodo tight, and whispered, “I do love you so.”

“I know, _meleth nîn_. I always have. And I will always love you as well.”

A wind from the West blew gently around the smial as the Ring-bearers drifted to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Full Translations:
> 
> Atya = Dad (Quenya)  
> Atarinya = Father (Quenya)  
> Aduial vaer = Good evening/twilight (Sindarin, for this and the rest of the phrases)  
> Fuin vaer = Good night  
> Guren linna a chened le = My heart sings to see you  
> Meleth nîn = My love


End file.
